


save a little warmth

by Sour_Idealist



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Massages, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 04:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14394288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_Idealist/pseuds/Sour_Idealist
Summary: Being a rogue is rough on the hands. Caleb helps.





	save a little warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on Tumblr](http://souridealist.tumblr.com/post/172513818135/alright-enough-of-this-sad-stuff-can-we-get-some).

A small, low grunt cuts through the quiet of the bedroom. Outside, Caleb can hear Jester's soft laughter, Molly's voice holding forth about something; but the sound was Nott, settled down on the floor, picking through her day's collection of odds and ends. She even bought most of them, Caleb is fairly sure; they have money in their pocket these days and today made it unmolested through the market. He's never seen her buy things she could steal before. He's not sure what to make of it, but she was humming tunelessly as they came home. She was humming now, until that faint pained sound.

“Are you all right?” he asks her, setting his book down. She blinks. It's a slow process. Once he thought he would never get used to the faint candlefire glow of her eyes; technically, he supposes, he was correct. It's lovely now.

“I'm fine,” she says. “Just – cramping, a bit.” She flexes her fingers. “We had a lot of locks today.”

They did at that, picking through an abandoned vault, and he saw her clenching her hands tight in the market, too, fists balled deep in her pockets. Caleb pats at the bed next to him. “Come here.”

“All right,” she says, a little doubtfully, and scrabbles up onto the mattress, “What is it?”

“This,” he says, and takes her right hand between his. “Let me know if this helps.” He digs his thumbs into her palm, slowly working over the muscles at the heel of her hand, rubbing in between her knuckles, paying close attention to the base of her thumb. He can hear her breath catch. “Is this good?”

“Yes, it helps,” she says, sounding genuinely surprised. “Thank you.”

“Watching you work,” he says, head bent, working his fingers back to dig into her wrist, “I wonder what any of the rest of us need with a fourth finger.” She flushes a little.

“I – well. Never mind.”

Caleb lets it lie; her thoughts are her own. “If I had better control,” he says, working his way from her wrist up the taut muscles of her arm, “I could – I think, maybe – heat my hands, without burning either of us, and then this would be warm, as well, and even better.”

“You'll get there,” she promises him, smiling. “Anyway, this is nice. I like it.” She used to duck her head when she smiled, try to hide her face behind her mask or in the hood of her cloak; she doesn't bother around him so much anymore. He hasn't said anything about it – there's no reason to make her self-conscious – but the corners of her eyes crinkle up when she does it, and the ability to keep that perfect in his memory is worth living with all the things he'd rather forget. From artificial cock-boils to rising smoke.

“Good,” he says, switching to her other hand. “That's the point.” Her ears twitch, a little. He's still learning to read her ears, but she looks – taken aback, a little, still. He leans in over their intertwined hands to kiss the corner of her mouth, gentle and quick.

They sit in comfortable quiet as he works the tension out of her left hand. He can feel the tension leave her, can see her shoulders start to slacken, her faint and growing smile. Her skin is like leather under his hands; he's grown to love the texture of it.

He may never be the person he thought he'd be when he was young, but Nott treats him like he has something to give her. She always has. With all she's given him, this is surely the least that he can do. And maybe, if this is what he is; if he can be Jester's friend and reach a peace with Fjord again, can tolerate Molly and make conversation with Beauregard and most of all, most of all, if he can give Nott a little bit more kindness than she's used to – maybe that's not nothing, after all.

Carefully, he lifts her hands to his mouth. He kisses the back of one, then the other, and turns them over to kiss her palms. Nott makes a soft, regretful sound.

“I'm very tired,” she says. “I'm sorry.”

“I know,” he says. “I wasn't trying to, to start anything. I just...” He shrugs, and kisses her fingers one last time. “I'm very fond of you, Nott.”

“I'm fond of you, too,” she says, and inches closer, leaning her forehead against his shoulder.

 _I love you,_ he almost says. Another time. It will stick in his throat, if he says it now; but he's been starting to believe in tomorrows, lately, and he'll get there. They both will.

“Same bed tonight?” he says instead. “These are nice big ones.”

“Yes, I'd like that,” she says. “I'll try not to snore.”

She always snores; it's soothing, by this point. “I'm sure you won't,” Caleb says, and pulls her close against his chest.

 


End file.
